


Domestic bliss (ANGST PLEASE ITS ANGST)

by orphan_account



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Angst, Domestic bliss by glass animals, M/M, Sad, but I half project onto something, domestic abuse, implied to be a fantasy, no happy ending, themes of physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: My sister read this for me but it’s still badBased on domestic bliss by Glass animals, sadly the song is very angsty.Does not reflect anyone’s real character.HI THIS IS ANGST AND HANDLES ABUSE INTENTIONALLY POORLY IN A LOT OF WAYS—PLEASE DONT DO WHAT THE CHARACTERS DO IN THIS WORK OF FICTION.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Domestic bliss (ANGST PLEASE ITS ANGST)

**Author's Note:**

> Again there are help lines. Be it 999 or 911 or the one of your country, don’t act like characters I wrote.
> 
> This is a fictional scenario—Schlatt is not like this irl, this is a character based on him on the smp.

‘His fingers run over the counters of his friends house, breathlessly looking for something in the darkness of the night—his keys he left on the table earlier. He attempts to ignore the shouts of hatred, how the bedroom light isn’t off and how the slight crack shows a threatening shadow over a slouched one, how the anger shows and how the cling of a wedding ring on the floor sounds out.

He thought it was sweet—when this started—Wilbur really thought it was sweet. A jockish cis guy transformed from a transphobe into a considerate people—with a smaller trans guy that made him reconsider his perspective —he thought it was sweet that Schlatt fell in love with Quackity enough to defend him, enough to change his views.

It was when the smaller got pregnant and lost it a few months in, crying down the phone to Wilbur about how Schlatt may react, he understood something was wrong, that they were not okay. He took him for a drive, comforted him, watched the big brown eyes well up with tears and watched them fall, mumble about how he wishes he never immigrated, he wishes he had stayed in Mexico. Wilbur asked where would he want to go now, if Mexico wasn’t possible, where would he want to stay.

Hawaii, he had said, watching his eyes and shivering. Wilbur had given him his jacket that night, made sure Schlatt wouldn’t hurt the poor thing. He started saving to move to Hawaii, every new game Tommy laughed about him not getting, every time he walked instead of taking the bus, every time he took Techno’s free rides, every time he ate with Phil instead of making something at home, taking his father’s offers for lunch and dinner. The second job, the barely sleeping and eating less, all to save for Hawaii. All to flee with him—to give him a better chance.

He waits outside, on the balcony, as Quackity storms off in tears to sit on the bench Wilbur made in secondary woodworking, the one he traded with Schlatt when they were stupid children for a stupid coat hanger Schlatt broke in an argument when they were 17. He should’ve known back then.

Quackity sees him, jumping in his seat. He’s barely visible under the lamppost light from outside, he’s barely visible in any capacity, but he can still see the sensitive skin and feel his breath as he gets closer and closer, finally sitting between his legs to not be threatening.

“Wilbur! I didn’t know you were awake, mi amigo, was there something you wan—.”

“I see the bruise.” His words cut through the paper thin cover Quackity was under, his words are soft and caring but stab like a blade because he really tried to hide, he really doesn’t want anybody knowing what’s happening and here comes Schlatt’s friend speaking so softly and kindly as if he was any different than his lover, “I see the truth.”

It doesn’t take long for him to fall into a hug, fall to be held and loved. It doesn’t take long for the taller man’s arms to be all around him, touching him gently, like he’s fragile. It’s like he’s glass, graceful and something to care for like a collectors item. He doesn’t understand the touch, the warmth, some part of him is addicted to how it feels like he’s cared for for once, for once in a time so long he can’t remember the beginning of the lack of care. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realise he’s whispering to him, talking to him,

“I see what he's been doin' to you.”

For a moment, the accent has that slight tint of New York, that slight reminder that he and Schlatt have been together from smallish children until now, that reminder of the man with blood on the shoes, the brand new sneakers he brought him for Christmas. He doesn’t know what’s his excuse for hitting, for touching him in a way that hurts and makes him feel unsafe. He says he’s doing some new kung-fu, far more than he probably should, he always says that when he gets hurt. That he deserved it or that—that something else, he’s doing new kung-fu and he’s the punching bag for fucking up, for not following the rules.

“I shouldn’t do what I do,” his voice rips out his throat like a painful bandaid, it gets louder as words pour with tears joining their brothers in spilling, “He’s punishing me for fucking up, I deserve it, it’s our business not yours. Why are you even going on about this? It’s between me and Schlatt understand? Me! And him! Not you!”

“You always use his bullshit excuse,” Wilbur whispers, they are here occasionally, they’re here too often. If he only had the money, could’ve taken him sooner. If only he had the money, he would not watch from the sidelines, listen to Quackity censoring himself about what he goes through to not have the police called—he did call them once, made it anonymous and did it after a long time not speaking out of fear, police said everything seemed to be in order. Quackity slept on his sofa that night, he listened to the cries and decided the police were useless if they were just going to side with Schlatt, “But I see what he's been doin' to you.”

It’s just the wind and them for a moment, Quackity crying the only noise in the air of the night. He’s fucked this up before. He has blamed Quackity, 

“Why’d you put up with that shit?” He asks the sleeping form on his legs, kissing his forehead as the tv plays Simpsons in the background. He thought the boy was asleep, he did, he really did. He wouldn’t have spoken like this if he knew he was awake, with this venom. But all he hears is a mumbled “I’m sorry” on his thigh, his breath hitching in his throat as he holds onto him, he runs a thumb over his cheek. They agree not to talk about it.

“Why’d you go back for that kiss?” He’s gentle this time, he wants to know. Quackity is still, as if the slightest move would hurt him, his eyes shining with tears as Wilbur tries his hardest to make guesses, “Maybe it tastes like him,” his eyes are dark and the smaller of the two almost falls into his arms at the dark yet caring look, almost falls for it, almost let’s him think this boy cares, “When you got tears in your lips.”

“I love him,” Quackity speaks, unsure, “He’s the only one who’d ever take me anyways. I don’t want to be alone, he still has good in him.”

“Is that—Why'd you put up with that shit? Is it because he loves you or because it’s easy—I can assure you that isn’t love, I can assure you how he treats you isn’t love, it's abuse. Why don't we pack and leave this shit? You and me? You can leave him, he’s not your only chance. You have people out there who’ll be delighted to care for you. Why do you smile when he cries but stay when he hurts you? Why does he get to hurt you?”

Wilbur cries. It’s the first time in a while he cries in front of someone, still holding Quackity.

“I don’t understand. Why do you cry when he wins? He’s your friend. Why do you care if he hurts me? You’re his friend, you’re supposed to be on his side.”

“I can’t watch you get hurt, I can’t. I should’ve stepped in more sooner. I should’ve protected you from him. I should’ve never let you go through it. I should’ve done this way before now. I should’ve done so much, Quackity. I should’ve and I’m sorry I didn’t. Please, listen to me. Fight for me, you don’t have to for long I have a plan.” He feels panicked. He doesn’t know why, maybe fear Schlatt will hear them.

“I don’t know—.”

“We can leave, I'm beggin'. Please, Quackity, I’m on my—on my knees. Please fight for me, we can go to Hawaii, I’ll take you. I’ll get the money please fight for me,” he stumbles over his words.

“Hawaii—Wilbur we’re broke, you’re joking with me. You don’t have the money and I have even less.” 

“I’ve been saving, please. I said we can leave, I mean it, just a few months. I’m begging please. My—,” he gets on his knees, “Quackity please. On my life, I wouldn’t get on my knees in front of you for no reason. Fight for me, we’ll make it Hawaii and you’ll be happy. And it’ll be worth it.”

“I can’t tell if you’re serious about Hawaii,” he speaks slowly, “You got my interest. But I’m scared you’re doing this to report to Schlatt.”

“Remember when I got you get well balloons?” He asks with a look at Quackity, his eyes shining as the boy nods, “when you had surgery. New flowers too—Schlatt didn’t talk to me for a month because of that.”

“The last one is—,” Quackity starts, guilty, only for Wilbur to take his hand and finish his sentence,

“Dying in your bedroom, I know. I would have gotten new ones for you but I couldn’t—I was saving.”

‘Because I knew he’s squeezing you every night.’

“I’m sorry you feel the need to save me. I'm really okay—please.”

“You’re not to blame for anything that is happening. I’m not blaming you for needing saving—I want to save you.”

“Mama would be mad if I left him,” Quackity speaks softly, “She’d say I’m just using him, she’d see red. Mama thinks Schlatt is so nice for putting up with me. She thinks I should wear more makeup, put on some perfume, to be good enough for him, she says I’d get domestic bliss.”

“I know how bad you wanted it,” Wilbur speaks slowly, trying to sympathise, he had an explosive relationship with an ex girlfriend but nothing like this—maybe he can relate a little to the denial, the wanting everything to be okay, the yearning for it to all go away, “Is that why'd you put up with that shit? Because that’s—because you want the domestic life it gives you. Please Quackity, we’ll find better. We’ll find you genuine bliss.”

He doesn’t want to say ‘with me’, that’s manipulative to him.

“When you asked ‘Why'd you go back for that kiss?’ I think—I think you got it right. Maybe it tastes like him, maybe I don’t want to leave him because I fell in love with how he tastes, how he laughs, I fell in love with that smokey feeling I get around him and the danger—maybe that’s why.”

“When you got tears in your lips, was that the taste of him too? Please. There’s better yet. I know that will be hard, moving on always is. It always will be. But I promise you—”

“Why'd you put up with that shit?” Quackity asks, Wilbur freezing completely, “With all the manipulation towards you, with all he’s done—you’re not in love with him, you don’t feel like that about him—why did you put up with it?”

“Because I knew him as a kid,” Wilbur explains, voice very small and slight, “I knew him before he was like this. Why’d I think he could go back to it? No clue. Maybe because he was like my brother? I don’t know. Now, how about we pack and leave this state as soon as we can? Why do you want to stay when he makes you cry? There’s a place where you can smile, where he isn’t here to make you cry.”

“Why do you insist I come with you?” Quackity asks, a small cry of pain when Wilbur touches his cheek, his hand retreating softly, “He would miss you, you’d betray him. I don’t get what you win with this?”

“I don’t win, I keep you safe and that’s all I need. Fight, for yourself and for me. We can leave when I have the money, I’m going to just need you to stay a little while longer then leave with me,” Wilbur is begging, pleading, “please.”

The light that was previously on now turns off, Quackity scared by it again with a small shout of ‘my jesus’.

‘I’m on my knees’ Wilbur thinks, trying to plead silently know. The Mexican seems to understand him, he thinks at least, eyes so soft and slowly more and more trusting it melts his heart.

“If we go to Hawaii,” Quackity says finally, the fight inside him seemingly done, “You’ll take care of me?”

“Of course. As I said, we can leave, I’m sure you get by my begging that I really want you to be safe. I’ll be there, I promise I’ll be there. Please.”

The stool he was sat on gets uncomfy for Quackity so he gets up with Wilbur, still on his, my god they have no circulation, knees swaying slightly at the sudden lack of support.

“I’ll take you up on Hawaii—and I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about paying for Hawaii. Just stay safe.”  
—————————————————

“My God,” he speaks on the airplane, watching the smaller curl up next to him. Some part of him aches more than ever, touching his hair affectionately. He doesn’t know why this feels so weird, the man next to him curling up to him, why it feels so right or why he feels like staying forever in this position without the smallest change. He doesn’t understand the euphoria as the plane finally flies towards the sky, he doesn’t understand the part of him is screaming that he was so good to save him, some part of him is so happy to save him and to have him in his arms, some part of him is roaring like a beast, victoriously clawing at him to be let out of his stomach for a feast, to touch the smaller and to make him safe, to be like a lion protecting the lioness—to be like a bird protecting the mother of its children. Some part of him is begging to be let out to just hold on and make sure he never gets hurt again and he’s almost embarrassed by the aggression, the way it claws and claws and bites and clashes. It’s violent as fuck, begging to be let out to be violent towards Schlatt. To bear it’s nails into Schlatt, rip him apart. 

‘I’ll rip him apart if I see him. If he touches him again, I’ll be more than protective. I’ll go right for his throat, I’ll make his outsides go on the inside.’

A trickle of lighting lights the sky, they’re going to Hawaii. They’re going to Hawaii together.  
——————————————————

“I knew before I heard,” speaks the Mexican, looking at the man in the kitchen, how he’s bent over to look at dishes instead of him and how his confession affected him.

Because sometimes there’s this monster inside me, roaring to hold you. Roaring to touch you and kiss you and replace all the hurt with gentle kisses. There’s this beast inside of me that begs for your affections, has since way before you were free. There’s a beast inside me that’s hoping to be released that would smother you in affections and build you a nest to stay in, to rest in, to feel warmth in and to be cared for in. I don’t know if I can name all the thoughts to be because of the beast, I don’t know if all of them belong to the part of me that would defend you if it killed me, the part of me that wants Schlatt dead—is the beast that yet also my extreme affections for you? Or is my affections the head on my shoulders instead of the pit of my stomach? Do you want to be kissed by me? Or is it delusions I wish were true that tell me this—that beg me to not think I manipulated you into a situation. Because I won’t hurt you for rejection. I know I should’ve let you make the first move I am stupid. Please understand I don’t want to hurt you. I want to kiss you till your name is but a memory you can’t reach—history to you.

“I felt it in my skin when you touched me that you loved me,” the shorter of the two is slow to speak, eyeing the letter, “My god, I’ll be honest. It felt right, in all the good ways. It felt like a trickle of lightning and your confession is poetry.”

He gets close, wrapping his arms around him, “I knew before I heard you loved me, before I realised you loved me, that I loved you. I know that it’s stupid, it just felt so good to be cared for like that for what felt like—it felt like the first time in my life someone cared for me when you took to talking about my relationship and solving it. The touch—the touches to my skin, the whispered fight for me that kept me going when it got dark. We can do anything together, I realised it when you got me to leave. I’m so glad you didn’t get tired of begging—I swear on everything I own, on my heart, on everything I have. My heart has never beat this fast and if you got on your knees in front of me and asked me to marry you I would.”

Their kiss is long, loving and sweet, making the beast go wild in his stomach. He can’t help but to wish to turn back time, to meet Quackity instead of Schlatt, to love him instead of Schlatt. To take him to Hawaii far earlier, to fight for what’s right.

“I’m glad it’s just you and me,” Wilbur could’ve said it a million times and meant it every time, “We are perfect together. You can do anything you want to, I won’t restrict you. I just hope I won’t make you leave. I’m sure I would never have tired of begging for you to be here with me—I wish you were you. Please. I wish I could’ve been on my way a little sooner, could’ve been on my knees in front of you a little sooner.”’

And when Wilbur wakes up, he’s not in Hawaii but laying underneath the stars, his eyes looking up at the sky and waving,

“I hope heaven looks like Hawaii.”


End file.
